


hold still

by phasma



Category: Free!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sakurathon, post-series finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phasma/pseuds/phasma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which our two love-birds indulge in painting on each other's backs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold still

**Author's Note:**

> it's weird how this is my first rinharu fic when you take into account how much these two have taken over my life. the whole idea of painting on someone's back in an act of intimacy is from a tumblr post (which I do not have the link to). aaaand i started writing this b4 i knew what sakurathon was and i was too lazy to finish it, so when i heard about the event i'm like, 'well golly gee, i got a sakura tree in my story, and whoop, deadline,' so sorry if that's why the ending might feel rushed. (also, it might say posted on the 27th, but it's still the 26th rn here, so i hope i'm not late!!)
> 
> this is post-series finale. dear God, these losers will be the death of me, i swear.

❀❀❀

   In retrospect, a well lit room would've been a much better place to do this in than a dim bedroom, yet neither boy wants to cut off the romantic ambiance by flicking on the lights. They make due with drawn curtains and a small bedside lamp.

   It also would've been a better idea to do this on a hard, solid surface, as opposed to the plush bed Haruka and Rin are sitting on now; one wrong move and all the paint could spill onto the former's powder blue comforter. But again, neither boy is willing to abandon their all-too-familiar proximity for something as unlikely as spilling paint... they're much too prudent for that to happen anyway.

   A hushed din resonates throughout the room: a combination of shifting blanks, the occasional tap of a paintbrush on the small cup of paint water, and deep yet quiet breathing. It's been like this for a while now, no words having been exchanged since Rin had exclaimed that the paint felt weird on his back when Haru made his first stroke, and that had been almost an hour ago. Still, none of them mind, as the near silence is a comfortable change from their usual chatter (or rather, Rin's chatter and Haru's minimal responses).

   By this point, neither can remember whose idea this was. They can only recall shopping together for washable paints, coming back to Haru's apartment, and somehow ending up seated on his small bed in only their underwear. The air is hot like both boys’ flushed cheeks and ears, but the bashfulness and stuffiness is so familiar and welcoming all the same. Haru doesn't say anything, but just sitting here with Rin is incredible in it of itself. All of the phone calls and Skype sessions couldn't hold a candle to having his boyfriend actually _be_ here; his smile and laugh never completely translated through the screens and phone speakers.

   Rin's back makes a gorgeous canvas, clean shaven and pale. The muscles add extra bumps and grooves, however, Haruka has always loved a challenge. Earthy shades of browns, pinks, and whites contrast with the light skin of Rin’s back; a solemn sakura tree in a vast desert. He’ll probably cry when he sees this, Haru muses with reasonable certainty, and full preparation for the rain that will replenish the desiccated foliage.

   There’s a closeness about them right now. Definitely a closeness that will go unmatched for a while. And yes, that closeness is positively physical--the presence of each other too paramount to ignore--but tonight, it seems to go much further than that. Distance might make the heart grow fonder, but it’s upon finally being close to Rin again that rouses Haru’s heart in a dire need to push itself out of his throat and tell Rin how much he missed him, how much he loves him. Having never been good with words, however, Haruka settles for pouring his heart out in the form of paint on Rin’s back, punctuating his claims of love with every petal painted.

   Haru makes the last few strokes, but hesitates in putting down his brush. Even though he and Rin have been sitting here for a fair amount of time, that fair amount of time seems like the most unfair thing in the world. It’s going by too fast for Haru, and even though neither he nor Rin have said anything about it since scheduling the visit, they both know they’ll have to go to the airport again in a week, and they both know that only one of them will return to Haru’s apartment that evening.

   So Haru takes his time with setting down the brush, sighing long and deep towards Rin’s back to indicate his finis. A flurry of goosebumps covers Rin’s arms, and as the redhead turns to him blushing, Haru isn’t sure if he should feel adoration or secondhand embarrassment for his boyfriend.

   “Hold still,” Haruka says, in a sonority just a hair above a whisper. Rin complies and holds still, only turning his head after he hears Haru grab his phone and take a picture, and the room becomes silent again. The two sit there for a second; Haru enamoured by the picture on his phone and Rin trying to decipher the reflection of the screen in those wide, cobalt blue eyes.

   Rin can't handle it anymore- the curiosity is eating him alive- so he caves first and hops off the bed, making his way around to the other side, and climbs on from the side behind Haru. With the phone still not in his line of vision, Rin scoots closer to Haruka from behind, his hands in his lap and chin on Haru’s shoulder. The sight on the phone renders him speechless.

   Of course. Of-freaking- _course_ Haru would paint a sakura tree on his back. Really, was there anything else Rin could’ve expected? Well, perhaps water, but for crying out loud. It was so predictable, yet Rin is caught completely off-guard. Haruka is not supposed to be the romantic one, he isn’t supposed to do something so incredibly clichéd that Rin’s eyes water from both adoration _and_ frustration. But how could he not? Each stroke looks so delicate and, dare he think it, free and he must’ve known it’d make Rin cry because why else would he do anything that didn’t entail swimming unless it would humiliate Rin.

   “Rin.” He’s facing him now. Great. Fantastic. “You okay?”

   And that makes him outright bawl. “What do you think?!” And he’s hugging Haru from behind; hugging harder than at the airport, harder than after winning the relay, and he’s hugging and crying and smiling and kissing Haru and it’s downright hard to look at, but downright marvelous to feel. Haru smiles, and holds Rin’s forearms gently, as if to tell him that it’s okay to cry. That it’s okay because they’re together, and blubbering like a complete baby won’t change any of it.

   After a few more seconds of a sob-session Rin will most-likely deny if ever brought up again, he slinks his arms out from Haru’s hands and wipes his tears. Looking up from his own hands, Rin smiles nervously at noticing Haruka’s turned around and staring, expectant and waiting for who-knows-what. The former chuckles to distract from a persisting blush, and finally takes his hands away from his face. “I missed you a lot… when I was away, you know?”

   Haru’s mouth opens just enough to let in a bated breath, and it takes him a second to exhale and nod. “I know.”

   “Did you miss me?” He’s asking it like he doesn’t know the answer, like he doesn’t even need Haru to flat-out say it. But then again, there’s never any harm in double-checking.

   “Maybe.” That earns him a slug on the shoulder and a mock gasp, which was expected. What wasn’t expected was the second punch. Haru rubs his shoulder as if the punches actually hurt (Rin would never let anything hurt him) and smiles when he asks what the second one was for.

   “It’s ‘cause you _knew_ I was gonna cry and you painted it anyway.”

   “But you love it.”

   Rin clicks his tongue and looks down at the bed.. “Of course I love it, idiot.” Blinking twice before doing so, he looks up again and laughs lightly. They’re children. He and Haruka are absolute children who are incapable of being serious while in the presence of one another. And if it weren’t clear enough already, Haru’s next statement makes it crystal.

   “You may love it now, but wait ‘til you see it with a certain mascot added.”

   Gingerly, Haru dips his brush into a freshly squeezed plate of bright yellow pigment, and Rin’s eyes widen as he pretends to gasp. Mouth agape, he looks up from the paint and straight into Haru’s eyes. “You wouldn't dare.”

   “Turn around,” Haru instructs, not waiting for a response before he pushes Rin’s shoulder to face away from him. Rin instantly whips around and seizes Haru's wrist, grinning. All those hours at the gym are now proven useful for something other than swimming.

   “You are not painting Iwatobi-chan on my back.”

   “Aren’t I, though?”

   “ _No_ , you’re not. Here,” Rin plucks the brush from Haru’s hand and lets go of his wrist, dipping the brush in water before pushing Haru’s shoulders. “Let me show you what _real_ romance looks like.” And in a split second, Haru feels the chill and wetness of smeared paint on his back. Rin’s strokes are large and haphazard, and he picks a new colour of paint every minute. After a short while, he sits back on his haunches to admire his handiwork.

   “There,” he says, setting the brush in the cup of water. Haru is tempted to touch the paint on his back, as if he can somehow see the mess of colours just by doing so. Despite that, he withstands from ruining the rushed painting and listens to Rin shuffling. He hears the sound of a camera shutter and turns around to see Rin holding his phone.

   Rotating the phone for Haru to see, Rin’s face becomes void of its previous mischievousness, and filled with a sort of anxious wistfulness. It’s plain to see why. He’s waiting to see if Haru remembers, if Haru can tell that this mish-mash of colours on his back are supposed to depict a sunset on a beach, and if he can tell that it’s the sunset from a foreign beach, in a place where they ventured to save Haruka just two years ago.

   Seeing no use in verbally answering a question that wasn’t verbally asked, Haru makes a response by meeting Rin’s expecting lips with a chaste, well-deserved kiss. A kiss like a spell, because the instant they break apart, the two only seem to have enough energy left to place the paints and brushes on a bedside table and turn off the lamp. No more kisses tonight, no more teasing, no more painting. Just sleeping in a mess of limbs and backs covered in paint not nearly dried. Because that’s all they need: each other, and (now) paint-stained bed sheets.

❀❀❀

**end :0**


End file.
